The Rape of a Princess
by Nidavellir
Summary: Sequel to Kumo no Mukou, Yakusoku no Basho by Makoto Shinkai. This a work riddled with personal theories regarding the original, taking place two years after the fall of the Ezo Tower...
1. Introduction

Disclaimer:_ Kumo no Mukou Yakusoku no Basho_, also known as_ Beyond the Clouds_, _the Promised Place_, and _The Place Promised to Us in Our Early Days_ is originally created by** Makoto Shinkai**

For those of the less fortunate that have yet seen this masterpiece in the world of anime, you will be doing yourselves a favour just by checking out its trailer.

Beyond the Clouds strike me (a former film student) as a literature that truthfully stimulates one's mind. Its most extraordinary feature, aside from the marvellous animation techniques and quality, are the story. I have never watched a same film so many times just to make up my own interpretation, ever.

For those who have seen this movie, it is understandable that you think it is pointless to write a spin off to this work. How is it possible to continue such a complicated work of art?

After repetitive viewings of the film, I have my own personal interpretation of the ending, and explanations for the unanswered issues spawning from the storyline. This fanfic is based on my interpretation, and the compelling world of Makoto Shinkai.

I apologise on my grammar; English is not my native tongue.


	2. Broken bond

She had always told me about her omens. And I have realized I'd never taken her seriously, even at the moment I am being told.

The night before I carried the sleeping beauty to the tower of her dreams, I sensed her fear. Her fear of loosing something so dear to her, I felt it, and I believe I know what she was afraid of loosing. In her dream world, she lived in a frozen time. To us, she was taken away for three years. If waking up meant the apprehension of the loss of your youth, your innocence, the three years of your life, and that unparalleled link with the spirit of your special someone, I would be afraid too. But the both of us decided to pursue the promised place; both of us believed anything is worth the second chance of living.

Like the fairytale, our sleeping beauty was trapped in her dreams no more. Yet the damage was done, like a wound that refused to heal.

She had been living with me since she left the hospital. For months I watched her endure the painful path to recovery, the images of her torture like sessions in the physiotherapy room, her arms and legs feeble and frail, they were sculptured into my mind. By then, it was hard to picture her as the girl that attracted me in middle school, not just because of her grades, but her athletic talent.

Amongst the first things I told her just after her awakening, was that with all our time we have ahead of us, we could start a new beginning. Turns out it was more difficult than I could comprehend. We live in the same room that I had stayed during high school, but it seems we barely see each other during the days that were to follow. While I am finishing my last year in university, she was still finishing high school. The three years were literally stolen from her life. During her coma, her body had stopped growing. She barely fits the looks of a high school student, and her true age does not help either. Before sunrise, I would get up to catch my train, leaving her asleep in her separate bed. By the time I got home, we usually take turns in slumbering off ahead of each other. There are occasions when I can go through a whole day without saying one word to her. In the weekends, she generally leaves for her music activities. It was a heavenly blessing; her talent with her violin was not taken away during her long sleep.

I guess I could never look at her as the same way as I did back then. I could not bring myself to propose to a woman, who resembled a younger sister I never had. I still loved her, but it was not in the way I had in mind. I guess she had looked at me differently as well. In the times we had to engage in a conversation, I sensed her addressing me as figure of respect and admiration, as if we're not even the same age. Her smile, her delicate fingers and her beautifully crafted body, they had fascinated me as much as ever, but no longer welcomed me in my own mind. Over the time during her recovery, I have come to realize I must grow into a new relationship with her. I would become her guardian. I would be her protector.


	3. Home sweet home

Hiroki Fujisawa was sitting on the icy floor of the three by three room. It was one of those days he would come home early. The last sunlight of the day was withering. The young man had not changed his heavy set of clothing, and his face was buried in his scarf. Before him was his small, cheap TV set switched on, although he wasn't paying much attention to what's been broadcasted. He heard his door being opened, followed by the very feminine, merry voice he long cherished:

"I'm home"

And within moments, entered Sawatari Sayuri. Her long and elegant hair was tied into two pigtails, and a scarf hung loosely around her neck. She was dressed in the same uniform Hiroki had worn several years ago, save the skirt and the stockings. Her violin was fittingly mounted on her back, an item like a part of her body in the eyes of him. She took a deep breath, blowing the inhaled air into her hands, stroking her graceful fingers simultaneously.

"Today's exceptionally cold,"

"Yeah, it's the coldest day of this winter yet,"

Her voice always made him smile. She was once his classmate, his target of affections. Now with her much smaller stature, no one, not even himself could think of them as a couple. They spoke to another as a younger sister would to her adored brother.

"How was your day?"

"As usual,"

"Anything big happening?" she pointed to the small screen.

"Not really, not so far,"

She laid down her bag and her violin, and turned towards the stove.

"Let's make dinner, alright?"

"Sure,"

He got up quickly, not wishing to spare a moment of working alongside her. In his absence, the current event continued its broadcast over the radiant screen:

"…_With the first democratic election in the history of Russia having just ended, waves of civil unrest and dispute have emerged across the new nation…" _

"…_Seeing as the victorious right-wing party leading by less than 0.01 percent of the votes, strong criticism regarding the reliability of the ballots result, have surfaced everywhere from the still Union-bound coalition…"_

"…_In this current situation, we see a possible scenario where the inefficiency of this newly founded government, could push the strong faction of Brezhnev supporters, into bringing back the old Soviet regime that was immediately dissolved after the withdraw of Hokkaido…"_

Regardless, the young couple buried in the simple enjoyment of dinner preparing, did not heed the content of the newscast, whether it was by their own intention or pure folly.

"So…I will be having another concert this Sunday,"

"You seems to be having a lot more concerts recently,"

"Isn't it a thing to be marvelous at? At least I'll have a certainty on how am I going to feed myself,"

"By playing in the Tokyo Plaza?"

"Better than building airplanes!"

The couple laughed, a rare occasion amongst them. Little will they know, that this will be last moment of its kind between them.


End file.
